


Of Mischief and Solace

by SKEvans



Series: Thigh Highs Chronicles [3]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sexual Content, Shenanigans, Some Humor, a sprinkle of angst, thigh highs, wink wink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:35:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28476996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SKEvans/pseuds/SKEvans
Summary: Tifa hadn’t expected to spend tonight sneaking in a mall and stealing a tree, but she should have known from the second Zack texted her 'we need to get a christmas tree' that he hadn’t meant buying one.A Christmas Sea of Silence side story. Takes place after the ending.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Series: Thigh Highs Chronicles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758349
Comments: 23
Kudos: 115





	Of Mischief and Solace

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, hello. It's me again, back on my bullshit.
> 
> This is the result of me thinking 'what if Zack stole a tree because he forgot that stores close early on Christmas Eve'. Yes, it degenerated. Yes, it's like 8k. Yes, it's 5:30AM on January 1st. No, I don't have regrets.

**—**

**—**

**A Sea of Silence**

**—**

**Side story**

**—**

Of Mischief and Solace

**—**

“I _told_ you this was a terrible idea.”

“You told me twice, actually.”

“Then why are we still here? We’re gonna get caught!”

“Ah ah, neighbor,” Zack says with a grin, “that’s what makes this so _fun_.”

Holding in curses, Tifa leans forward to peek around the corner; the security guard can barely be seen as he walks away to continue his round. In her chest, her heart beats too fast for her taste—the mix of adrenaline and anxiety is both invigorating and paralyzing. She senses Zack hovering over her shoulder as he also checks if the coast is clear.

“Operation Christmas Tree is a go,” he whispers before darting from their hiding place.

“Zack!” Her warning goes unheard—or most likely ignored. Damn it, she knew better than to agree to Zack’s plan. “I hate you so much,” she hisses as she follows him.

It’s dark in the store, and Tifa’s gaze keeps jumping at every shadow and sound not masked by the holidays music still playing. Zack said it was an advantage for them, that it would provide some cover, but she just thinks it’s creepy as fuck.

“Found one!” Zack signals at her to get closer; he rubs his hands together when she stops at his side. “Isn’t it perfect?”

 _Perfect_ isn’t the word Tifa would use. Not under these circumstances. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” The tree is wide and well over six feet tall; even in its box, it’ll be too big for them to carry undetected. “Let’s get that one,” Tifa says, pointing to a miserable-looking tree.

“Now _you’_ re the one out of your mind.” The look Zack gives her is one of disappointment. “I taught you better than that.”

“It’s gonna be easier to carry and—”

“If I wanted a twig for a tree, I wouldn’t be here, neighbor.”

Tifa sighs, recognizing defeat when she sees it. “Fine. But let’s hurry.”

They don't waste time to locate the box corresponding to the tree and pull it down from the shelf. Tifa grumbles about how cumbersome the box is, but Zack only gives her a blinding smile as an acknowledgment.

“Wait!”

Zack halts abruptly, making her stumble. “What is it now?”

He drops the box before she’s even finished speaking. “We need stuff to decorate.”

“I have ornaments!”

“Your ornaments are ugly,” he says matter-of-factly. “Come here, I need your bag.”

For a moment, she debates refusing, but she knows he won’t listen and prolonging their time here is far from a good idea. Tifa crouches next to him and slides her backpack off her shoulders; the zipper sounds ridiculously loud in the store—

Tifa’s head snaps up as she realizes why—the music stopped. Her pulse drums wildly, and she turns towards the entrance, spotting the faint beam of a flashlight.

“Fuck, hurry!” she whispers.

The urgency in her voice strikes Zack, freezing him in place; his eyes widen as he comes to the same conclusion as her, and he grabs whatever box of ornament sets is in front of him. Tifa shoves them in the bag as best as she can until it’s full; the zipper doesn’t close all the way, but it’s enough for the boxes to stay inside. They scramble to their feet as the ray of light gets brighter. Zack snatches a box of string lights off a shelf; the brusque move causes boxes to topple to the floor. They halt out of fear as the noise rises through the air. The guard’s quiet footfall stops.

“We need to hide,” Zack says, waving at her to follow him.

Heart pounding, Tifa nods; they pad into the closest aisle right as the guard appears. She glances around the corner, finding him examining the area where the boxes of lights fell. By some miracle, the rack they were on is high enough to hide the tree’s box from sight, as long as he doesn’t inspect further. When the guard grumbles about _why do they always stack too much shit on the shelves,_ Tifa exhales, a faint note of relief unfurling within her. She moves back to make sure she isn’t seen as he picks up the fallen item and puts them back; the sound of retreating footsteps is music to her ears. Both Zack and her wait for a full minute of silence before sneaking out of the aisle and grabbing the handles on the tree’s box.

“We’re not far,” Zack says, voice low.

Keeping to the walls as much as possible, they make for the store’s entrance to the mall’s back corridors. As she’d anticipated, navigating the aisles of a store with an enormous box is a challenge, but they somehow make it into the corridors. She waits for the door to shut behind them to speak.

“I hate you so much.” Tifa glares at his back when he laughs at her words. “This fucking box better fit in the car or I’m leaving you here to make space for it.”

“So cruel,” Zack says with mock wonder.

“I swear, if you lied about the cameras—”

They reach the garbage disposal area, and he directs them towards a service door. “Relax, neighbor. That store’s security cameras aren’t working.”

“Do I even want to know how you discovered that?”

“Oh, ye of little faith.” Zack turns his head so she can see his smirk. “I wouldn’t have brought you if I hadn’t been sure. And to answer your burning question, I have a friend who works there.”

“I still hate you,” Tifa says, without heat this time.

“Nah, you love me.”

Fresh air wafts in as Zack pushes the door open, clearing the smell of garbage. The mall’s parking lot is nearly empty, the stores having closed early for Christmas Eve. Tifa hadn’t expected to spend tonight sneaking in a mall and stealing a tree, but she should have known from the second Zack texted her _we need to get a christmas tree_ that he hadn’t meant _buying_ one.

They make their way to the car, walking as fast as they can with the box in hand. Zack unlocks it and opens the trunk while Tifa lowers the backseat so they can slide in the box.

“Fits like a charm,” he says, smirking at her. He closes the trunk. “I knew it.”

“Shut up,” she grumbles. “I still don’t see why we had to use Reno’s car since it’s the same size as mine.”

Zack snorts at her comment but says nothing at first. They get in the car, and he takes off through the parking lot. The drive is silent for a while; Zack only speaks as they near her apartment, amusement coating his voice.

“I’m using Reno’s car in case they somehow got a look at the license plate.” His fingers drum to a silent rhythm on the steering wheel. “He doesn’t know that, of course.”

Tifa shakes her head, a smile tugging at her lips—she should have known. “He’s going to murder you.”

“He can try.” Zack grins, eliciting a chuckle from her, but as he turns a corner and her building comes into view, their amusement fades away. “You think it’ll help?” he asks softly.

The right words escape her, even as he parks and turns off the ignition; neither of them moves. “I hope so,” she says at last.

He sighs, no doubt feeling the same hesitation. “Guess we’ll see. Come on.”

Getting the tree out of the car and up the stairs proves to be worse than carrying it through the store’s aisles; Zack lets out curses every time he bumps into the wall or the banister.

“This was a terrible idea,” he grumbles once they enter the apartment.

“Really? _Really_?” Her sarcasm doesn’t go unheard, and Zack sticks out his tongue as an answer. “I’m pretty sure I said those exact words before.” She pauses for emphasis. “Twice.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let’s build this fucking tree.”

As Zack cuts through the box’s tape and takes out the tree’s limbs, Tifa heads for the bedroom. She shuts the door behind her for a semblance of privacy and leans against it, releasing a long sigh. It’s not Zack’s shenanigans and her going along with them that weighs heavy—rather, it’s the reason behind their actions. Her gaze sweeps the room, first taking in the semi-mess it’s become ever since Cloud moved in, then settling on the picture frame face down on the dresser. She’d noticed a few days ago but had kept quiet about it, even if it had hurt to do so—the pain rears back now, both familiar and foreign in the way it squeezes her heart. The picture is a gentle reminder on most days, but there are times where that softness morphs into an intense viciousness—it’s the latter that persists with Cloud now.

She wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. When Zack had texted her, Tifa had known why he wanted to get a tree before he explained himself. Maybe that was why she’d agreed despite being aware of what a terrible idea it was—the thought of cheering Cloud up was too appealing to be denied.

Though the picture frame tugs at her heart, she tears her eyes away and focuses on evening out her breathing. She walks to the closet and picks up a shoebox; inside are her only ornaments, and though she wouldn’t admit it aloud to Zack, they _are_ quite ugly. All were bought three years ago after Christmas, an impulse buy fueled by the discounted price. The ornaments ended up being a mismatch of styles; without a tree, Tifa had forgotten about them once Christmas rolled around the next year, and they’d disappeared into the closet.

There is only one ornament in the box that she likes; it’s not anything special by itself, just a simple, gilded frame for a picture. Tifa holds it up, admiring the way it glimmers in the light. It’s not big enough to fit the picture Cloud can’t look at, but that wasn’t what she had in mind, anyway—she knows it wouldn’t help him to see it displayed like that.

Noise and swearing drifts in from the living room, muted by the door; it snaps Tifa out of her daydreaming, and she puts he box down, only keeping the frame ornament in her hand. Zack stands beside the largest window, hidden by the wide tree as he attempts to drape the string lights.

“A little help, neighbor?” he calls out as she approaches.

Tifa takes the lights from him and weaves them through the branches on her side, handing them to Zack so he continues on his. “What time are the others getting here?”

“In an hour or so. Cloud should be with them.”

She bites her lip, hesitating for a brief moment. “I need to prepare a little something before he gets here.”

His slight pause tells her he recognizes this is something important to her. “Yeah, of course.”

Together they make quick work of the lights, and as the minutes pass, Tifa feels the steady beat of her pulse speed up. It’s not a bad kind of anxiety, she realizes, or at least it’s not a scary one. Cloud won’t be disappointed by this, she knows that—but that’s not _enough_ for her. She wants him to like the decorations and the tree; to enjoy the night with their friends; to be happy despite the sadness and the guilt that persecute him every night.

Zack brings the backpack with the stolen boxes as she fixes the placement of the lights a little. His laugh rings out, startling Tifa; she twists around.

“What is it?”

“Oh, man, that’s…” Zack shakes his head. “None of these sets match.”

Tifa comes closer, peeking over his shoulder. “Shit.” The biggest set is blue and silver; a smaller one is multicolored, and it makes her think of a rainbow, not Christmas. The last set is red and gold, but it’s clear the eight ornaments included won’t be enough for the whole tree.

“You could have chosen better,” Tifa says, her tone dry.

“I was under pressure!”

“Uh-uh.”

Zack crosses his arms as he glares at the boxes of ornaments. “Next time, I’m bringing a flashlight so I can see better.”

“Ah yes, because that’s clearly the issue here.” Tifa opens the blue and silver set, picking a few and walking for the tree. “The lack of proper lighting, not the stealing.” She hears him pad closer; seconds later, he stands next to her, holding the box open for her to take the ornaments.

“Shinra overprices their shit, anyway,” Zack says, rolling his eyes. “They can handle us grabbing a few items on the way out.”

“I still can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“You know what this means, neighbor?” He goes to grab another box as she picks up the last ornament from the blue set. “You’re truly my partner in crime now.”

Tifa frowns at his words—and the amusement she detects in his voice. Her lack of answer makes him chuckle. “I’m not sure how I feel about that,” she says at last.

“You can admit you love—” He cuts off as a knock resounds through the apartment. They both whirl around towards the front door. “Fuck!”

She quickly hangs the two ornaments she was holding as he heads for the door, box still in hand. “You said—”

“I know!”

Zack gets there right as the door inches open, revealing an annoyed Cloud arguing with Aerith. They only have time to hear him say _I’m not waiting in the hallway_ before Zack slams his body against the door, slamming it shut. Shouts rise from the other side.

“Zack, what the fuck!” An incredulous laugh escapes Tifa as she stares at him, eyes wide.

“You said you had something to do.” Zack grunts when someone, most likely Cloud, pushes against the door. “I’m buying you time.”

His statement saps the air out of her; Tifa nods and seizes the gilded frame ornament. “You always have to be so dramatic!” she calls out over her shoulder, heading for the bedroom.

She catches his _You can say thank you, you know_ before the door closes, and she allows herself a smile. Tifa ignores the indignant voice echoing from the living room as she picks up her book of Chopin’s Nocturnes; she’d left it on her bedside table last night after spending an hour staring at the ceiling. The memory of the frame ornament had plagued her as she wondered which picture she could use. Her first thought had been one of Seph—after all, her intention had been to include him in some way. But she’d realized a photo of his brother might be too much for Cloud since he wouldn’t look at the frame that held his one picture of his family together—of him and his mother and Denzel and Seph.

It had taken her a while to figure out something. And now still, as she takes a picture of half of the first page of the Nocturne in E-Minor, Tifa doubts herself. Her breathing quickens as she scales the photo, and it becomes impossible to get it under control as the noise of the printer fills her ears along with her heartbeat and the voices on the other side of the door.

Once it finishes printing, she folds the edges as best as she can so it fits the rectangular frame; scissors would have been more efficient, but they were the furthest thing from her mind as she hid in here. Thankfully, the folded image fits fine, and Tifa takes a minute to compose herself before holding it up to eye level and looking at it—really looking at it.

There’s something that feels a little wrong about it—not the appearance, nor the fit, but something deeper. Maybe it’s too big of a reminder—not just for Cloud, she realizes as she senses tears building. And yet, stronger than that faint feeling of wrongness, that fear of making a misstep, is the acknowledgment of an open wound that might never close—and its importance in both of their lives. Maybe making an ornament with a picture of what she played at Seph’s funeral isn’t the best idea she’s had—she can admit to that. But maybe no one will understand its meaning as she hangs it up in the tree for all to see—no one but Cloud and her, and Tifa finds reassurance in that.

The gentle knock on the bedroom door startles her, and she hides the ornament behind her back as someone walks in; the tension in her body decreases when she sees it’s Aerith.

“Sorry, he insisted on heading back early.” Her friend rolls her eyes, but there’s no masking the fondness etched in her features. “I texted you, but I'm guessing you didn't see it.”

“Ah yeah, I didn’t know.”

Aerith stops before Tifa, concern overtaking her humor. “Are you okay? You look…” She tucks stray stands of hair behind Tifa’s ears; the affectionate gesture is both overwhelming and soothing. “You look sad,” Aerith adds softly.

Tifa nods, not trusting herself to speak right now. She takes a deep breath, then another—again and again until she feels her grasp on her emotions stabilize enough. Though Aerith stays quiet, her presence is comforting and grounding.

“I just want Cloud to have a good time,” Tifa says, stepping away from her friend. She riffles through the mess overtaking her dresser after putting down the ornament; the action is a way to distract herself and nothing more. “Have you seen how ugly the ornaments Zack got are?”

The abrupt change in topic doesn’t go past Aerith; there’s no need to look at her to confirm—Tifa knows her friend well enough. She doesn’t push, instead coming closer and placing a small bag on the dresser. Tifa turns to her, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

“It’s your gift,” Aerith says. The mischievous sparkle in her gaze spells trouble. “I wanted to give it to you in private.”

The random statement is enough to pull Tifa out of the puzzle of her mind. “Oh my god,” she chuckles, feeling both scared and curious, “you got me something embarrassing, didn’t you?”

A smirk is Aerith’s only answer as she pushes the bag towards Tifa.

“Fuck, you so did.” Tifa peeks through the baby blue tissue paper but only glimpses a flash of red and white. She frowns as she removes the paper, unveiling what was inside; a gasp leaves her at the sight, and she feels her face heat up. “I _hate_ you.”

Aerith does nothing to hold in her laughter as Tifa takes out the red and white stripped thigh highs with a small red bow.

“Aren’t they great?” Aerith says with a grin. Her laughter redoubles as Tifa groans and hides her face behind her hands. “There’s more in there.”

Tifa spreads her fingers to peek at her friend. “Do I even want to look?” That damn smirk of hers reappears, and Tifa sighs in defeat, taking out what is still in the bag.

These thigh highs are different from the first pair—there’s nothing ridiculous about them, but they still make Tifa blush. The stockings are sheer, trimmed with delicate lace and adorned with a satin bow, all in black—not exactly the type of thigh highs she’d wear out of the apartment.

“You like them?” Aerith asks as she picks up the Christmas themed ones. “I wish I’d thought of recording your reaction to these.” She tilts her head to the side and smiles. “It was pretty priceless.”

“They’re really nice,” Tifa mumbles, her cheeks still a bit warm. “Thank you.”

Aerith nudges her with her shoulder. “Are you going to put them on?”

“Now? No!”

But Aerith is already removing the stockings from the packaging. “They should reach high enough to be hidden by the hem of your dress.”

“That’s not—”

“Trust me, the only person who will notice is Cloud.” Aerith dismisses the concern with a wave of her hand.

Tifa bites her lip, unwilling to admit her friend has a point; the thigh highs _are_ nice, after all… “Oh, fuck it,” she sighs, extending her hand.

“I knew you’d see reason.” Aerith winks as she gives her the stockings.

They both stay quiet as Tifa slips on the thigh highs; muted music mixes in with the chatter on the other side of the door. She stands, smoothing the front of her dress to make sure the top of the thigh highs are concealed—the sheerness of the stockings compliments the heavy velvet of her dress, completing the look. Aerith sends her a knowing look but mercifully stays silent about it.

“That’s quite the tree you guys got. Did it cost a lot?”

Tifa grabs the picture frame ornament, stiffening at her friend’s question. “I wanted a smaller one, but Zack insisted,” she says, trying to keep her tone even. A long pause follows, and she winces—either she did a terrible job or Aerith knows her boyfriend too well to buy it.

“You guys also got back late from…” Aerith’s voice trails off as realization dawns upon her. “He did _not_.” She doesn’t wait for Tifa to confirm it. “He stole a fucking tree?”

“Well—”

Aerith twists on her heels, exiting the bedroom and marching into the living room; Tifa follows her, equal parts amused and worried. The first one to spot them is Yuffie, and all the others turn, their greetings dying as they notice her expression.

“ _Zack_!”

The man in question glances around as if in search of someone else named Zack. As his girlfriend gets nearer, he backs away but finds himself blocked by the couch. “Hello, my love—”

“You stole a fucking Christmas tree?” Aerith points at the offending tree and all heads snap that way. “And all the decorations?”

Zack holds his hands up in front of him as if to ward her off. “Technically, Tifa and I stole a tree. And the decorations.”

“Tifa?” The gasp comes from Yuffie, who burst into laughter a second later.

Reno gets up from the couch, his outrage clear as day. “Yo, what the fuck? That’s why you wanted my car?”

“I think we should all calm down and—”

“You broke into a store!”

“Actually, _we_ used the back corridors and—”

“I’m gonna kill you—”

“That is unnecessarily violent and anyway with your skinny arms—”

Tifa rubs her forehead as she watches the scene unfold, wondering if she should step in. She feels Cloud’s presence at her back right as she choses not to.

“You’re letting him take all the blame?” Humor peeks through his voice, and the sound of it is both a comfort and a relief.

“Uh-uh,” she says, doing a horrible job of hiding her smile. “It was his plan.”

Cloud grabs her hand, forcing her turn around to face him; he tugs her closer so she falls against his chest. “What a terrible partner in crime.”

“Do you like the tree?”

The corner of his lips lifts as he looks at said tree. “It’s very…colorful.”

Her grasp on the frame ornament tightens, and the urge to show it to him swells. It’s tempting but also nerve-racking—she doesn’t want to bring attention to it, and as a result, to Cloud’s reaction.

“Tifa, a little help here?”

Zack’s plea serves as the perfect distraction as Cloud rolls his eyes, but still goes to his friend’s rescue. For her part, Tifa stays where she is, smiling and waving at him; his open display of shock prompts her to wink.

“Wow,” Zack says, appropriately offended, “wow, the _betrayal_.”

She hears the bickering resume, intercepted with Cloud’s annoyed tone and Yuffie’s laughter. There’s something peaceful about the cacophony her friends make, and Tifa relishes that feeling as she searches for the perfect spot to hang her ornament. It takes no time for her to find it—close to the piano, a little to the side so it’s not the first thing one notices, but not so much that it becomes forgotten. Her fingers trace the gilded frame as she stares at the picture she used; the title of the piece is a bit small, though still legible.

She turns to her friends as their ruckus dies down a little. Reno is the only one who appears angry still, but Tifa can’t really blame him; he plops down on the couch next to Yuffie and chugs a beer, glaring at the Christmas tree. At least there’s no more yelling, and she’ll take that as a victory, small as it is. She finds Aerith and Cloud in the kitchen, arranging plates of food that were prepared in advance.

“Need help?”

Aerith makes a shooing motion over her shoulder. “We’re good.”

A protest makes its way up to the tip of Tifa’s tongue, but she swallows it down as the energy to fight over such little things drains out of her—she takes a seat at the kitchen table instead. “Where’s Zack?”

“Hiding from Yuffie,” Cloud says like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Why? Where?”

“I think he went in the hall?” Aerith turns to Cloud for confirmation, but he shrugs. “She threatened rather severe bodily harm.”

Cloud nods. “She was pretty scary.”

“I’m so getting a headache tonight,” Tifa mumbles, running a hand through her hair.

“It’ll be fine,” Aerith says as she picks up two plates and heads into the living room. “Who’s hungry?”

Overjoyed cries follow the mention of food, and Tifa cracks a smile.

“Thank you.”

She jumps, not having heard Cloud approach. “For what?”

“You know what.”

The combination of mirth and gratitude swirling in his eyes is like a magnet, and she stands, stepping into his space. There’s a touch of sadness as well—there always is now—but tonight it feels hushed. Despite being kept at bay, she knows that sadness hovers nearby, ready to rear its head at the smallest occasion; that constant, looming darkness is what affects her the most, though that’s not something she wants him to know.

“Stealing a tree?” Tifa asks, feigning innocence.

The laughter that leaves him is soft, and she can’t resist wrapping her arms around him, locking her hands at his back. “Weren’t you thinking of me?” he murmurs as he cradles her face.

“No, I just really wanted a Christmas tree.” Her smile widens when he rolls his eyes but can’t quite hide his amusement. “You’re welcome.”

Cloud stays quiet as he stares at her, and her heart stutters when he steps forward and into what was left of her space; the edge of the table digs into her back, but she barely notices as he leans down to kiss her.

“Awn, shit, I liked that shirt!”

The indignant shout coming from the living room startles them both, and they move apart to assess the situation—Reno’s manic laugh follows Zack’s affluent swearing as the latter uses a napkin to dab at a burgundy stain on his white shirt.

“Can we kick them out?” Cloud frowns, his exasperation clear as day.

Tifa bites the inside of her cheek to refrain from laughing. “I’m afraid not. Can you make sure they don’t send the tree flying? I’ll get more drinks.”

“Never thought I’d spend Christmas being a babysitter,” he grumbles as he walks off to join the fray.

The cheery music complements the ridiculous antics of her friends, and she finds herself unable to move; it feels a little like watching a movie—like watching something that can’t be real, something that is too good to be true. There’s a bitterness to the thought; the taste of it is sharp on Tifa’s tongue, and it’s one she could do without, but there are things that can haunt you forever despite your best efforts—she knows that well enough.

It takes her a moment to move from her spot in the kitchen; she gathers whatever drinking supplies she can carry before joining her friends. Maybe it’s because she’s still focusing on the yells and the laughter and the chaos, but Tifa doesn’t immediately notice how Cloud stands apart in front of the tree. If the others do, they don’t let it show—until someone asks him what he wants to drink. Cloud’s silence grows to engulf the apartment—it’s awkward and imposing, but it doesn’t last long; Aerith hurries to carry on the conversation and they go along with her cues.

But not all of them. Tifa seeks Zack’s gaze, and a fissure in her heart expands as she finds him staring at Cloud with worry and poorly veiled distress. She has no need for a mirror to know she must be the same.

Grief is a volatile and ruthless entity that delves within the body, infiltrating the mind and dissolving into the blood. It bides its time in the depths, corroding its prison with indiscernible claws and an insatiable hunger—it surges at times, a great wave that floods everything in its path. But it’s the small things that get you in the end—those everyday reminders that scrape the open wound until it bleeds again and grief oozes from it.

That’s what tonight is to Cloud—it’s what Tifa and Zack had wanted to prevent out of love and concern. And Tifa had known, deep down in the locked hollows of her heart, that it was an irrational goal, but she hadn’t wanted to face it, and neither had Zack.

Each steps she takes towards the tree hurts as if walking on tiny glass shards that never lost their sharpness. Tifa halts right next to Cloud, keeping a small distance between them so not to jolt him out of his mind; her gaze follows his, and she sucks in a breath as she realizes he’s staring at her frame ornament. But this close, she also discerns his expression—there are the inescapable glints of sadness and guilt she’s used to, but it’s tranquility that fills in the blanks. Whatever apologies had stumbled through Tifa’s mind vanish, and a gentle heartache settles inside her instead.

“Do you like it”? she asks softly.

Cloud nods once, twice; he blows out a loud, shuddering breath that betrays the fragility of his emotions. “I was trying not to think about it. My first Christmas without Seph, it just felt…” He struggles for the right word but then gives up; after all, there’s no need for him to find it—not with her. “I’m glad you did this. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to acknowledge it, I just couldn’t figure out how to do it.”

“I wanted to use a picture at first.” Tifa bridges the small distance she’d left between them and leans against his arm. “But it didn’t seem...” She hesitates, then carries on, “It didn’t seem right.”

“It would have been too real.” A pause grows between them, one she waits for him to break. When he does, his voice sounds steadier than before. “I know it’s real. It wouldn’t hurt if it wasn’t. But this is good. Thank you.”

Tifa slips her hand into his, intertwining their fingers; he tightens his grip in answer. “I wanted you to have a good time tonight.”

“I am. I promise,” he adds at her dubious look. The slight smile that comes next is what convinces her. “Seph’s absence is always going to hurt, especially on days like this. Doesn’t mean I can’t be happy.”

It’s her turn to nod. “Then, let’s enjoy tonight.”

“Yeah.” Cloud doesn’t move yet, his eyes still fixed on the ornament. “Yeah, let’s,” he says at last as he turns to her.

They move away from the tree to join their friends, and Tifa is glad that no one comments on it. Only Zack can’t quite shake his concern, his frown still marring his features, but he does his best to smooth it out. When Tifa catches his eyes, she nods, hoping it will help relieve him of his worries; his answering smile tells her it does.

“So what movie are we watching?” Yuffie swallows her mouthful of homemade pizza before continuing. “I vote horror movie.”

“What?” Zack snorts, almost choking on his drink. “What the hell is wrong with you? It’s Christmas!”

Yuffie sends him a mocking look. “Boring,” she drawls out.

“Ignore her.” Reno ducks as she tries to swat him behind the head. “Let’s watch a funny movie.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause horror movies scare you.” She smirks when Reno glares in answer.

“Seriously?”

“You heard _nothing_ , Fair.”

From the corner of her eyes, Tifa spots Aerith padding towards the TV stand and taking possession of the remote. The TV turns on, and the sudden noise has everyone else freeze. Aerith stands in front of it, hands on her hips and a smirk plastered on her face.

“What shall we watch, I wonder?” The melodic quality of her voice is a startling clash with the devilish glint in her eyes. She hums as she browses the selection of movies, then gasps when she settles on Mean Girls. “What do we have here?”

“ _Again_?” Zack’s incredulous tone makes Reno and Yuffie groan in solidarity. “You watched it two days ago!”

“You can never watch a classic too many times,” Aerith chirps as she presses play.

“But—”

“I have the remote, therefore I decide.”

Tifa shakes her head, aware arguing with Aerith is a waste of time when she’s made up her mind. “I’ll clean up a little,” she says, getting up from the couch. A chorus of _thank-you’s_ fills the air as she picks up discarded plates and goes into the kitchen.

The movie is already playing when she walks back into the living room and dims the lights. Tifa halts when she notices no open seat; Yuffie, Zack, and Aerith are squeezed on the couch while Reno sits on the carpeted floor, leaning on Yuffie’s legs. Cloud sits in the only armchair, a little off to the side; there was no way they could fit a second couch in here, but Cloud had insisted on bringing the worn armchair when he’d moved in. He notices her eyes straying to the piano bench and gestures at her to come closer. That’s when she takes in his smirk and realizes where he wants her to sit.

Grateful for the darkness hiding her blush, Tifa hesitates for a moment; it’s the challenge in Cloud’s gaze that decides for her.

“Are you being shy?” he whispers in her ear as she sits sideways on his lap. His hand glides down her back and around to settle on her hip, its trail warm through the heavy velvet of her dress.

“You’re incorrigible.” She keeps her voice low despite the loud volume of the TV.

“You’re not usually complaining.” His lips graze the shell of her ear, and she smacks his chest, eliciting a short laugh out of him. “I’ll behave.”

A feeling akin to disappointment spreads over her, and she whispers back, “You better,” to mask it. But his grip on her hip grows taut, making it so she falls further against his chest, and Tifa knows she didn’t fool him.

As the movie advances, the room fills with loud laughter and snarky comments; Tifa loses track of what’s happening every so often, her concentration wavering each time Cloud’s hand slides a little higher on her leg. It lays right above her knee now, his thumb stroking mindless patterns over the stocking; the thin layer does nothing to lessen the sensation.

“See?” Aerith gestures wildly at the TV, half-turned towards Zack; whatever she was drinking spills over the rim of her glass, dripping on her boyfriend's lap. “I told you it was a Christmas movie!” On screen, the four girls dance dressed in skimpy Christmas costume.

“Yes, yes, you are so right,” Zack says as he does his best to stop her flailing. “Why don’t you give me that glass—”

Aerith pushes his hands away and wastes no time gulping down what was left in the glass; only then does she shove it into Zack’s waiting hand. “Here.”

“That’s not what—”

“Will you two shut up?” Reno snaps. “We’re watching a movie.”

“Oh shit, does this mean you _like_ the movie?”

Laughter rises within Tifa when Reno scrambles for a reply, but she swallows it sharply as Cloud slips his hand past the hem of her dress and up on her thigh. She can sense his lips curving in a smirk against her forehead as his fingers spread over the skin, nudging her legs apart the slightest amount and tightening around her inner thigh. Her initial thought is to stop his wandering hand, too aware of their friends being so close; her second one is to let it drift higher until he realizes her stockings aren’t regular tights—and _then_ stop his hand. She bites her lip as he inches up just a little and his thumb feels the lace band of the thigh highs. His body goes rigid as understanding settles in, and it takes a lot out of Tifa not to burst out laughing.

“Fuck.” The breathy curse gets lost in her hair and buried beneath the movie.

She waits, knowing him too well to expect him to stop there—and he delivers less than a minute later. “Stop that,” she whispers, unable to keep all the mirth out of her voice.

“You’re evil.” Cloud drops his hand a bit lower on her leg; it’s still far from appropriate, but it’s not like she wants him to _really_ stop.

“Watch the movie.”

“I don’t want to,” he says, lips brushing against her skin. A familiar roughness colors his voice, softened only by the quietness with which he speaks.

Tifa allows herself to laugh, the sound short and low; she does her best to ignore the way her breath hitches when he murmurs, “Now _you_ ’re the one misbehaving.” Her reaction doesn’t go past Cloud—she knows it didn’t even if says nothing about it and lets his head fall back against the armchair.

None of this helps her focus on the movie, and she gives up as the end of it nears. When the credits roll, Zack grumbles _fucking finally_ and jumps off the couch to turn on the lights. Without his body to support hers, a sleepy Aerith tips sideways, toppling over on the couch after a split second of suspense.

Yuffie snorts as she pokes her friend a few times. “Hey, Short Stuff, you can’t crash here.”

Without lifting her head from the cushion, Aerith reaches behind her to slap Yuffie’s hand away. She says something, the words twisting on her tongue and becoming unintelligible.

“What did she say?” Reno’s puzzlement only grows as Aerith repeats herself with no change for the better. “The fuck?”

“She said ‘shut up, you fucking gremlin’.” It’s only a guess from Tifa’s end, but she knows there’s a high probability of it being right considering her friends’ track record.

More mumbling from Aerith follows, and Reno turns to Tifa. “Translation?”

“She said she wants to go home,” Cloud replies before she can speak. “I think it’s about that. She’s pretty much about to puke on the carpet.”

Aerith is far from being sick—Tifa is familiar with her friend’s alcohol tolerance, but she keeps her observation to herself, more than aware of Cloud’s intentions. Zack doesn’t seem to come to the same conclusion as her as he helps Aerith to sit straight; his frown is one of exasperation, though his genuine concern shines through.

“Zaaaaack,” she whines as she wraps her arms around his neck. Her grasp on him holds despite his attempts at loosening it. “I’m sleepy.”

“Alright, alright, we’re going.” He gently taps her arms. “Gotta let me breathe first.”

Everyone stands as if compelled by an invisible cue, picking up plates and glasses and bottles. Reno and Cloud take care of rinsing dishes while Yuffie finishing cleaning the living room and Tifa assists Zack. Drunk Aerith makes everything more difficult than it ought to, wearing down Zack’s patience bit by bit.

“I’m about to throw her over my shoulder and walk out,” he says after she tucks her feet under her for the third time. “You need to put on your boots, love.”

The endearment softens the annoyance peeking through his voice, but it’s not enough to convince Aerith. “Don’t wanna.”

“Alright, I’m over this. Hold this, will you?” The question is for Tifa, and she catches Aerith’s boots a second before they collide with her face. “Come on, you baby.”

Aerith lets out a squeal as he lifts her off the floor; she clings to Zack’s coat with one hand and to his neck with another. He grunts as her nails dig into his skin but leaves it be, aware there are battles not worth fighting. Tifa raises her eyebrows at Aerith’s antics as she goes to open the front door.

“Please, please, _please_ don’t puke,” Zack mumbles as he crosses the threshold. “Yuffie, can you grab the rest of her things on your way out? I’ll get her settled in the car for now.” A shout of agreement sounds from within the apartment, and he releases a long sigh. “I’m exhausted.”

Tifa leans against the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. “Committing a crime can do that, it seems.”

“You make it sound so bad. Okay, I guess it _is_ kinda bad,” he adds at her deadpan look. “Just a little.”

“One day you’ll get caught, you know.”

“You are absolutely right, neighbor, and we both know you’ll be right there with me.” A groan from Aerith grabs Zack’s attention, and he turns for the stairs, leaving Tifa with a parting wink and a loud, “Merry Christmas!”

She waits a minute, wary of hearing a call for help in case Aerith does get sick. Once it’s clear Zack made it out unscathed, at least temporarily, Tifa heads back in, surprised to find Yuffie and Reno putting on their coats.

“Don’t tell me you guys cleaned up everything already?”

“We’re a great team.” Reno presents his fist to Yuffie, and she bumps it with hers without even looking his way. “Thank you for having us.”

“Man, it freaks me out when you act like you have manners,” Cloud drawls. Reno gives him the finger over his shoulder. “That’s more like it.”

Tifa sends Cloud a half-hearted glare; he shrugs it off. “Well, _I_ appreciate your manners.” She pauses, then says, “As infrequent as they are.”

Though it’s clear Reno wants to argue, a withering look from Yuffie shuts him up. “Next time we’re watching a horror movie,” she says as she hugs Tifa. “I’m speaking it into existence.”

It’s the ease with which she promises a next time that strikes Tifa, making her smile; a good kind of anxiety for the future blankets her. “I’ll try to remember.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you do.”

After a last round of farewells, Yuffie and Reno leave, the latter carrying Aerith’s leftover belongings. Tifa shuts the door, locking it reflexively; the sudden quiet is a harsh contrast to before and she savors it. No shouting, no music, no TV—she hadn’t realized how much noise had crowded them the whole night.

Cloud is nowhere to be seen as she pads into the living room, and she figures he must have gone to the bathroom—she certainly didn’t expect to find him in the bedroom and holding the Christmas-themed thigh highs Aerith gifted her. Shock and embarrassment flare up when he examines them with mock-seriousness.

“Those are…interesting,” he says at last.

“Oh my god.” Tifa groans, throwing herself on the bed and hiding her face in the covers. “I hate Aerith.”

His answering chuckle is stifled, like he’s trying not to laugh and failing miserably. “Well, if there’s a market for those then people must like them.” Cloud waits a beat as if contemplating something. “I guess.”

She hears his footsteps get closer, then feels the bed dipping when he climbs in. More than anything, she feels the warmth of his hand as he slides it along her leg; he hooks it behind her knee and tugs her towards him. Tifa twists on her back to face him—there is a faint remain of humor and fondness glinting in his eyes, but it’s the determination and want carved in every part of him that holds her attention the most.

His hand continues its exploration, pushing up her dress to reveal what she’s wearing under. “Did Aerith give you these, too?” Cloud trails the tips of his fingers along the lace. When she nods, he leans in close and whispers, “Remind me to say thank you,” before kissing her.

There’s something about the way her body melts into his that Tifa craves—maybe it’s because of his teasing earlier, or maybe it’s just because it’s Cloud and he unravels her with the softest touch. He wastes no time pulling the sleeves of her dress down her shoulders; the faint scrape of his teeth over the exposed skin is soothed by kisses, making her want more and more. Tifa sits up a little, just enough for her to reach the zipper at her back, but he takes over, pushing her hands out of the way. He removes her dress and bra, discarding them somewhere in the room without a care.

In the last year, Tifa has come to recognize some of Cloud’s tells, most of which are unknown even to him. Now, it’s the slight tremor of his hands as he runs them along her back, as he tilts her head back to kiss her again and again, that gives away his need to forget.

“Cloud,” she says, keeping her voice gentle. “Look at me.”

He does, just like she knew he would; their loud, uneven breathing fills the brief lull in time. His eyes close as if against his will when she tangles her fingers in his hair. “Yeah?”

“Slow down a little. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”

Cloud rears back a bit like her words surprised him; the last thing she expected was for him to laugh. A heavy feeling builds within her in the wake of his reaction, a spark of anxiety that she shouldn’t have said that.

“I’m okay, Tifa,” he says with a slight smile. “I’m just running out of patience.”

“Oh.” She bites her lip. “I thought—”

A quick, gentle kiss cuts off her explanation. “It’s okay, I know.” One of his hands leaves the sliver of skin above a thigh high to move higher. He pushes her underwear aside and strokes his fingers over her, the touch light and lazy. “I thought they’d never leave,” he murmurs, his lips brushing hers.

“You almost kicked them out—” The last word becomes more of a gasp as he sinks a finger into her.

Cloud slants back to stare at her with a sly smile. “You wanted me to. Don’t deny it,” he adds when she shakes her head. “And you wanted me to touch you during the movie.”

“No,” she breathes out, the lie obvious even to her. Her eyes flutter closed as he presses his thumb down on her clit in slow circles.

“You knew those would get to me.” He toys with the satin bow of one thigh high. “Did you want me to make you come?”

This time, her lie morphs into a moan as he slips in another finger and moves his hand in shallow thrusts. Tifa grasps at the sleeve of his sweater as if desperate to hold on to something, then moves down his arm to seek his hand resting next to her on the bed.

“Such a little liar,” he whispers.

Cloud moves away in order to take off his shirt and unfasten his jeans. Though she tries to hold it in, a faint noise of protest leaves her as his hand slides away. He hears it anyway, and his voice turns hoarse when he says, “Turn around.”

It feels like something within him broke as he covers her body with his the second she rolls unto her stomach—Tifa revels in the safety his warmth provides; in the slide of his skin against hers as he enters her; in the greedy way he holds her to him. He presses his lips to her shoulder, mouthing praises and swears alike that slowly drive her to the edge. Tifa clutches his hand laying on the covers close to her head as she comes, and he groans as he follows her.

The tenderness and the quiet that succeed are some of her favorite moments—that little interlude where there is nothing between them, where there is no need for words. Cloud shifts so he lies on the bed, adjusting his hold on her to keep her close. Sleepiness settles over Tifa despite her best efforts, and she gives up fighting it as Cloud plays with her hair, the calming, repetitive movements akin to a lullaby.

“Merry Christmas, Cloud,” she murmurs, half-lost to sleep.

Still, she hears him as he says, “Merry Christmas,” and then hums softly.

The melody tugs at her, familiar and yet indistinct—it’s something she’s played for him, she realizes as sleep carries her away.

(In the morning, she wakes to the echo of a whispered _thank you_ and the faint memory of music.)

**Author's Note:**

> *dabs at tears* fucking dorks
> 
> One day I will update at regular hours so I can edit, but that day is not today. We are feeling very yolo today (every day).
> 
> Come scream at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sk_evans)!


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